


We're too young too reason, too grown up to dream

by elevenoclock



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-12
Updated: 2011-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenoclock/pseuds/elevenoclock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur doesn't listen to advice given.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're too young too reason, too grown up to dream

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Session 1, Round 1 of The New Pub. The theme was "song lyrics", and this piece was written in 20 minutes to the lyrics "We're too young too reason, too grown up to dream". Join us at thenewpub.livejournal.com!

[Original Link](http://thenewpub.livejournal.com/1686.html)

 

Arthur is twenty nine years old, and hasn't had a dream in four years that wasn't under the control of Somnacin. His therapist would be worried about him, if he had a therapist. Instead, he has Cobb, who is old enough to be his dad, and tends to act like it.

"Look, maybe you should take a break from the business for a few months," Cobb says into the phone.

The sound comes out tinny from halfway across the world. Arthur is on his back under the desk of the rather lovely Sophie Marceau, who is gorgeous and drinks red wine like it's water, but more importantly is the secretary to Arthur's newest mark, a Philippe Girard, who has too much money and too many enemies who want a slice of his business empire.

"Just because you've got your kids back, it doesn't mean you can adopt me and treat me like James, telling me when it's my bedtime," Arthur says. The office is empty, and he has an alert tied into his phone if someone trips his alarm overrides.

He fixes a bug to the bottom of the desk, tucked into a crack where it won't be seen but should still pick up every phone call that Ms. Marceau makes.

There's a sigh through the phone. "I'm worried about you," Cobb says.

"I'm a grown man, not your protege any longer," Arthur points out.

"Maybe it's the parent in me," Cobb responds, "but you'll always be my protege, even if you're the most sought-after point man in the business."

Arthur pulls himself out from under the desk, brushing off his slacks as he stands. "Sappy," he comments.

"Just..." Cobb pauses. "Don't burn out by the time you're thirty."

There's silence from Arthur.

"When's the last time you dreamed, Arthur?" Cobb asks into the silence.

Arthur disconnects the call, flips his phone off and slides it into the pocket of his blazer.

Two weeks later, he wakes up in the middle of the night. His heart is racing, and his hands are shaking so badly that he has to shove them under his armpits to make them stop. Through blurry eyes, he sees the clock: half-past three in the morning. He'd only fallen asleep two hours before.

The shaking stops after a minute, and he forces his heart to calm, taking slow breaths through the nose and out of his mouth.

It takes him another hour to fall back asleep, lying in the bed of a five star hotel in Barcelona, listening to the sounds of the building around him. As he finally falls asleep, he realizes that he hadn't been dreaming before he woke, and the thought worries him for some reason. But then he's asleep again, and the thought is lost.

**

It's Yusuf, not Cobb, that he goes to in the end. Arranging the meeting is harder than he'd thought; Yusuf still lives in Mombasa, where Cobolt has dozens of hitmen still (supposedly) standing by in case Arthur or Cobb make an appearance. It's also Eames' winter home, which means Arthur has to step twice as fast to make sure Eames doesn't learn of his visit to the city.

But Yusuf, of all people, would understand, Arthur thinks. He lets the bells above the door announce his presence, and is sitting on a chair with a cat in his lap when Yusuf comes up from the dream den he runs beneath the shop.

"You're getting cat fur on your very nice suit," Yusuf points out.

Arthur smiles thinly. "Worse has happened," he said. "Fur, I can deal with. Bullet holes? Not so much."

Yusuf sees more than most, and his eyes narrow. "You've had a lot of those lately?" he asks. "Bullet holes?"

The skin of Arthur's shoulder pulls painfully when he shifts in his chair. "Enough that I'm here," he says.

"You're working too much," Yusuf states, leaning back in his chair. "When is the last time you dreamed?"

"Have you been talking to Cobb?" Arthur asks. "And you know, no one in our business dreams anymore."

"But few of us work as non-stop as you do, Arthur," Yusuf points out. "Even the best of us take a break when our bodies start to break down. A few months off of the Somnacin, and the dreams do return." He pauses, and then adds, "It was the circles beneath your eyes that gave you away, not a long-distance call from a worried parent."

"He's not my parent," Arthur states. He's more than aware of how childish he sounds at that moment.

"You flew to Africa for my advice?" Yusuf asks. "Then take it. Six months off of the job. No PASIVs, no drugs. Let your body reset itself."

Arthur stands, making a half-hearted attempt to brush fur off his clothing. "I'll consider it," he says.

Yusuf watches him go, and knows that Arthur won't do anything of the sort.


End file.
